


Day With No End

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2007-07-08
Packaged: 2019-01-19 03:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12402306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: AU fifth year. Harry has an awful day and can't wait for it to be over. Unfortunately, it just keeps repeating itself. Will his tormentor Snape be able to help?





	1. A Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**1\. A Very Bad Day**

“Neville, watch—ahh!”

Harry tripped over Neville’s books as the other boy’s bag flew into his knees. He hit the cold dungeon floor with a dull thud, the Slytherin students’ laughter echoing in his ears and down the corridor.

The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were waiting outside Snape’s classroom before Double Potions. Harry had already had a bad day. Between Umbridge and the animosity of his fellow students, he was thoroughly miserable. He hadn’t been looking forward to Potions at all. Because of his detentions with Umbridge, he hadn’t finished his latest essay, and he was expecting the worst from Snape.

Now the Slytherins had pulled a prank on Neville, charming a string to be nearly invisible, then stretching it across the hallway for him to trip upon. Harry had only just figured out what they were up to.

The door to the classroom opened with a clang, and the greasy Potions Master stepped out. Harry glared at him as he picked himself off the floor with Ron’s aid.

Snape eyed the scene before him with a sneer. Neville was standing, held up by Hermione. “Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment.”

“We weren’t even in class!” Harry snapped without thinking.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for pointing that out, Mr. Potter. Class is now starting one minute late. Another ten points.”

Fuming, Harry stormed into the dungeon, wishing for the day to end. It was only one in the afternoon.

“If you will pass forward your essays, please…”

Harry scowled and looked down, desperately avoiding Snape’s gaze. Hopefully he would be able to turn in a good potion today to try and make up his grade.

“If you didn’t do the assigned essay, you will have a very hard time in today’s lesson,” Snape said silkily as he placed the essays on his desk. Harry winced, preparing for his certain doom. “You must understand the role of each ingredient, particularly the flax. You will note that the procedure for the Cleaning Solution does not specify how much flax you need to use, only that you must use it.”

At this, Hermione let out a small gasp and began to flip through her textbook, looking to see if Snape was right.

“The amount you use will determine the strength of the solution,” Snape continued. “Too little will make your potion useless, too much will render your potion unusable. If there are any accidents in here today brewing a simple cleaning draught, I will be most displeased.” His eyes lingered on Neville, who gulped. “Begin.”

It wasn’t too difficult of a potion, Harry thought as he stirred. Most of it was straightforward, until he came to the step involving flax. He snuck a look over at Hermione, but she had already added hers, and her potion was exactly the pale green described in the book. Ron had crushed a few leaves and was now adding them. Harry decided to go with three small leaves and hope for the best.

The class worked in silence, the only sound in the dungeon the hissing steam from the potions. A few minutes later, an arresting smell entered Harry’s nose.

“What is this, Longbottom?”

Harry looked around at Neville, who was sporting a scrape on his cheek from falling earlier. Neville seemed too petrified to speak.

“How much flax did you use, Longbottom?” Snape asked softly.

Neville stared into his potion, which resembled dark green sludge. “Three leaves, sir.”

Harry gulped and turned back to his own cauldron. His didn’t look quite as perfect as Hermione’s, but it wasn’t that dark, either.

Snape chuckled darkly. “That should be the perfect amount…if you want to melt the glass from the window you’re trying to clean.” Harry cringed, regarding his potion with caution now. “Your ineptitude never fails to amaze me.”

Neville looked miserable. Snape continued, “Five years you’ve been in this class, five years you’ve failed every single lesson…it’s a wonder you haven’t been expelled…”

“Leave him alone,” Harry said.

Snape rounded on him. “What was that, Potter?”

“I said leave him alone. Sir.”

“Why—”

Snape never had the chance to finish his thought, for Neville’s cauldron chose that particular moment to explode.

Several students were sprayed with the boiling green mud, and the class erupted in screams. Snape managed to restore calm by placing a Freezing charm on the liquid that was oozing throughout the room, and Vanishing the rest of it.

“You three, get to the Hospital Wing,” Snape barked, and Parvati, Lavender, and some Slytherin left in a hurry, covering their faces and whimpering. “And you two,” he growled to Harry and Neville, “Detention. The rest of this week.”

“I can’t, sir,” Harry said.

“And why not, Potter? Will it infringe upon your busy social life?”

“No, I’ve just got detention with Umbridge.”

Snape’s black eyes seemed to flash at the mention of the toadlike witch. “I see. You will come in after detention with her.”

“But, Professor!” Harry gaped. “I usually don’t get out of her detentions until midnight!”

The corners of Snape’s mouth twitched. “Then I expect you’ll be very tired this week, won’t you?”

“You really need to stop arguing with professors, Harry,” Hermione scolded him on the way to their next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Your grades are bad enough with one set of detentions.”

“Wow, you think I don’t know that, Hermione?” Harry burst out.

“Lay off him, Hermione,” Ron said. “Snape’s just a git.”

“A git who doesn’t sleep,” Harry muttered. “I wonder if he really is a bat. Maybe he’ll be more pleasant at two in the morning.”

“I’m just saying, Harry, I hate when you get into so much trouble.”

“Thanks for your concern, Hermione.”

The three went quiet as they entered Umbridge’s classroom. The simpering smile on her face did nothing to help Harry’s dark mood.

“Good afternoon, class,” Umbridge said sweetly. 

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” the class chorused back to her.

“Wands away, please…turn to chapter twenty, Negotiation for Nonagressors, part two. There will be no need to talk.”

Harry read without looking at the useless words. He had enough to worry about without another set of detentions. Between the D.A., Occlumency lessons with Snape twice a week, and constant detentions with Umbridge, he was close to failing all of his classes.

Harry rushed to the Great Hall immediately after class in order to inhale some dinner before going to Snape’s office for the first time that night. He had just sat down when Ernie Macmillan came over to the Gryffindor table.

“Good evening, Harry,” Ernie said formally. Harry piled his plate high with mashed potatoes. “I was just wondering when the next D.A. meeting will be.”

“You’ll find out when everyone else does, Ernie,” Harry said, shoveling food into his mouth.

“Okay, but I thought for the next meeting we could—”

“Ernie, please,” Harry begged. “I need to eat before going to detention. It’ll be soon, I promise.”

“Oh, all right,” Ernie said, backing off and looking insulted. “Have a good evening.”

Harry ate as fast as he could, then looked at his watch with a groan. It was five minutes to six. He stood up quickly, accidentally knocking Hermione’s pumpkin juice into her lap.

“Harry!” she said reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” Harry told her. “I’m really sorry…I have to go, I’m going to be late for Snape.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, flustered. “Go, don’t make him even angrier at you.”

With this encouraging thought from Hermione, Harry half-ran down to the dungeons, until he was stopped by Cho Chang.

“Hi, Harry!” she said cheerfully. “Do you have a moment?”

Harry winced. “No, not really. I’m late for Snape.”

Cho’s face fell. “Oh. Okay.”

“Sorry!” Harry called behind him, feeling like a prat. Feet pounding the harsh stones, he made it just in time.

“Enter,” Snape’s voice called before he could knock. He did so, frantically calming his breath and attempting to do the same with his mind.

Snape finished marking an essay with a large “D” before looking up at him from his desk. “Have you practiced?”

Harry stared fixedly at a jar on a shelf that appeared to contain a baby bird. “Yes,” he lied.

Snape sniffed and stood up. In the dim light of the dungeon, he reminded Harry of a vampire. “Good," he said in a tone that made it clear he didn't believe him at all. "Wand at the ready, Potter.”

Harry drew his wand and took a breath, trying to clear his mind.

“ _Legilimens_!” Snape shouted.

At first the candlelight on the dank stones of the walls managed to stay in focus, but soon enough the office swam away….He was four and alone in his cupboard, rocking back and forth and crying softly… He was seven, being slapped by Uncle Vernon for being a freak again…He was twelve and being chased by a basilisk…He was in the graveyard, watching in horror as Voldemort approached him…

“No!”

The office returned, as did the situation at hand. Harry was on his knees, but to his vindictive pleasure, so was Snape.

“That was better, Potter,” Snape managed as he stood up and brushed his robes off. “But I’m still getting in way too easily. _Legilimens_!”

Two hours of having his mind attacked later, Harry stumbled into Umbridge’s office.

“You’re late, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge observed as Harry sat down in his usual desk.

“I’m sorry, but I had…Remedial Potions with Professor Snape,” Harry told her.

Her fat face broke into a wide, disgusting smile. “Oh, really? I will have to check with Professor Snape about that. In the meantime, I guess you’ll just have to stay later to make up for it.”

Harry was about to burst out in anger at the injustice of this, but he held his temper in check.

“You know what to do, Potter,” Umbridge said dismissively, and she began to read the Daily Prophet.

Just as Harry had told Snape earlier this horrible day, Umbridge didn’t release Harry until midnight. Exhausted, sore, and with a bleeding hand wrapped in his robes, Harry made his way down to the dungeons for the third time that day.

“Good evening, Potter,” Snape said softly as Harry entered his office again.

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry returned stiffly. His hand throbbed unpleasantly. The low, flickering light just made him want to go to sleep.

“I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?” Snape said, idly flipping a page of the book he was reading.

“What do you want me to do, sir?” Harry asked impatiently.

Snape quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward over his book. His greasy hair almost touched the flame of a candle. Harry wondered if the grease would act like lighter fluid if his hair made contact with the flame. “I want you to—”

Snape’s office disappeared, replaced with the dark corridor outside. Harry looked around wildly. Where did Snape go? Where did all his classmates come from?

“Ouch!”

A bag full of textbooks hit Harry soundly in the knees, and he stumbled to the ground.

The Slytherins laughed, and Ron helped Harry up. Harry continued looking around in confusion. He recognized this. All of this had happened earlier today. What was going on?

The door to Snape’s classroom opened, and the greasy git stepped out, eyeing the scene with his typical sneer. “Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment.”

Harry stared in shock and followed Ron into the room. Maybe the day had been a terrible dream, he told himself. It was one in the afternoon. If only his hand would stop bleeding.


	2. Already seen?

A/N: Hey guys, I didn't get any reviews on the first chapter, which made me really sad. If you don't like my story, my feelings won't get hurt if you say so. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the ongoing trama of Harry's bad day. 

2\. Already seen?

“If you would hand forward your essays, please…”

Harry stared in disbelief at everything around him. He’d had cases of déjà vu before, but seldom had they lasted an entire two minutes. As he stared at the fresh cuts in his hand, he became more and more certain that he had actually been here twelve hours previously, that he had somehow gone back in time. Perhaps it was like Hermione’s Time Turner in their third year…but if that was the case, two versions of him should be in this spot, not just one…

“…If there are any accidents in here today brewing a simple cleaning draught, I will be most displeased,” Snape was saying up front. Harry watched as he glared at Neville. “Begin.”

Harry assembled his ingredients and began to brew his potion, unsure of what else to do. He could hardly go up to Snape and tell him that he had already made this potion twelve hours ago. That would just earn him another detention.

This time, Harry only used one flax leaf instead of three. The color looked blue instead of dark green, which still wasn’t right, but to be fair, Harry’s mind wasn’t entirely on what he was supposed to be doing.

Halfway through the lesson, Neville’s potion began to smell funny. Snape glided past Harry to tower over Neville, who was trembling. Harry stirred his potion, listening. He desperately hoped that Snape wouldn’t quote himself yet again.

Harry was sorely disappointed. “What is this, Longbottom?”

Neville muttered something indistinct. 

“How much flax did you use, Longbottom?” Snape asked softly. Harry looked around, panic taking over his mind. There was no way he had been here before…he was here now…

“Three leaves, sir,” Neville managed, staring into his goopy potion. 

Harry pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. It hurt, but then he did it again. Now it hurt worse.

Just as it had before, Neville’s cauldron exploded violently, sending the slop of his potion all over the room and splattering three students. Snape cast a Freezing charm on the airborne liquid and Vanished the stuff on the floor.

Harry gawked stupidly at the scene, his mouth slightly open. He was going to have to tell someone about this. But what would he tell them? And whom would he tell? Harry tried to think about the problem logically as Parvati and Lavender passed him with tears flowing from their eyes on their way to the hospital wing. Maybe he would tell Professor McGonagall…no, he would just be sent to the hospital wing himself. Dumbledore just wouldn’t believe him, as his opinion didn’t matter at all these days…

Harry watched as Snape viciously gave Neville detention. At least this time he had been too dumbfounded to say anything, thereby landing himself in trouble as well. 

But that was it. This had all started in Snape’s office sometime after midnight. Snape had been about to tell Harry what his task for detention would be. Harry had to admit that reliving this day was the most horrific punishment he could think of off hand, besides one of Filch’s concoctions regarding chains. Perhaps Snape had done this to him. 

Snape dismissed the class early, and everyone left at top speed, not wishing to be the last one in the room with the irate Potions master. Harry told Ron and Hermione to go on without him, then mustered up his courage to talk to Snape.

Harry walked up to Snape’s desk, gripping his book bag with two white-knuckled hands. “Professor?”

Snape slammed a paperweight onto the stack of essays the class had just turned in. “What is it this time, Potter?”

Harry stuttered, struggling with how to phrase this. “Sir, I’ve…I’ve been here before.”

Snape glared. “Of course you have, imbecile.”

“No, sir, I mean, I’ve lived this hour before,” Harry tried to explain. “I’ve lived this day before, starting at one in the afternoon, and then—”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for wasting my time,” Snape growled, tossing the essays into a book and slamming it shut. 

“But, sir, I think I’ve gone back in time somehow and I was wondering if—”

“Detention, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Professor, really, I—”

“Detention every night this week, now get out!” Snape barked.

Harry gripped his bag even more tightly. “Sir, I can’t. I have detention with Umbridge.”

“Then come in after you’re done with her.”

Harry stared at the desk. “I don’t get done with her until midnight, sir.”

“Then you’ll be very tired this week, won’t you, Potter?” Snape asked with a sneer. “Now get out.”

Harry hurried out of Snape’s classroom, wishing he could dunk Snape’s head into one of Neville’s potions. He looked at his watch with a groan; he had to face Umbridge in ten minutes. 

Harry sank against a cool stone wall in an empty corridor to rest for a moment. He was exhausted. It was now three, so if he was right and not just crazy, he had been up for twenty hours straight, and they had all been very trying hours. He looked at his hand again, which hadn’t stopped hurting yet. It usually took the whole night for the smarting pain to stop, and Harry was certain that he had just left Umbridge’s office two and a half hours ago.

Who would know what was going on? Who would have answers? Coming to a decision, Harry stood and set off in search of Hermione. 

Hermione and Ron were standing outside of the D.A.D.A. classroom with the other Gryffindors. Hermione’s eyes widened as Harry approached.

“Harry, what’s happened to you? You look awful!” she said. “What happened with Snape?”

“Do I?” Harry asked absently. “Well, that’s something I need to talk about with you…”

But he didn’t get a chance to explain, as the class began filing inside for the next period. Harry bit his lower lip and followed, intending to tell Hermione immediately afterward. 

“Good afternoon, class,” Umbridge simpered from up front.

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” the class repeated without enthusiasm.

““Wands away, please…turn to chapter twenty, Negotiation for Nonagressors, part two. There will be no need to talk.”

Harry stared blankly at her for a moment before sluggishly opening his book. He was so tired. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment…but he couldn’t, he would fall asleep for sure. Harry sat up a little straighter in his seat and pretended to read.

He was starting to panic now. He had experienced instances similar to what was going on in his five years of life in the magical world, but every other time there had been a reason for it. He had experienced the memories of others in Tom Riddle’s diary and in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, and he had seen glimpses of his own during Snape’s attacks on his mind…not to mention the recurring dreams of a door…but this was inexplicable. 

Harry looked down at his hand. The words “I must not tell lies” gleamed back at him in his own blood, but at least it wasn’t bleeding as badly anymore. 

Had Snape really done this to him? What kind of spell could possibly make someone relive twelve hours? A horrible thought occurred to him. What if he was trapped in these twelve hours? What if he had to relive them over and over again?

No, Harry told himself. Tonight he would go to Snape’s office for his second detention after Umbridge, and whatever Snape had done to him would be over. 

The end of class could not have come sooner for Harry, who was starving, tired, and running out of patience. 

“Okay, Harry, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Hermione asked on the way to the Great Hall. 

Harry took a deep breath as they rounded a corner. “This is going to sound completely daft, but I think I’ve gone back in time somehow.”

Ron looked afraid for his friend’s sanity. “You’re right, mate, that sounds completely daft.”

Hermione, on the other hand, frowned all the way to the Gryffindor table. “Back in time from when, Harry?”

Relieved that someone was listening to him, Harry said, “About one in the morning tonight. Or tomorrow. Whichever. I was in detention with Snape, and he was about to tell me what he wanted me to do, and then I ended up getting whacked by Neville’s bag again at one in the afternoon, twelve hours before.”

Famished, he stopped his story to pile mashed potatoes onto his plate. Much to his dismay, Ernie Macmillan trotted up to join them.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” he said pompously. “I was just wondering—”

“When the next D.A. meeting will be,” Harry said sourly. Ernie backed off, surprised. “You’ll find out when everyone else does.”

Ernie continued, “Well, yes, but I thought for—”

“—the next meeting we could do something, I know, I’m sure your idea is great, but I have to eat before detention,” Harry finished for him with a hint of desperation in his voice. He loaded his fork. “The meeting will be soon.”

Ernie cast him a strange look and a hasty goodbye before departing.

Harry began to shovel food into his mouth. Ron stared in awe. 

“That was creepy, mate.”

“You knew what he was going to say,” Hermione said quietly. 

“So you believe me?” Harry said as soon as he swallowed.

“I think so, it’s not like you would lie about this, but, Harry,” Hermione hesitated. “I really don’t know how that could be. The only way to travel through time is with a Time Turner. At least, that’s what I’ve read. And what’s happening to you is not the same.”

“Great,” Harry said, taking an angry bite of chicken. But he did feel better after confiding in his friends. He wasn’t going mad. Well, he might be, but at least his friends knew about it. 

“You should go to Dumbledore,” Hermione suggested tentatively. “I don’t think anyone else could help you.”

“Right,” Harry said, knowing she was correct as usual but too upset with the headmaster to go to him. 

“What time is it now?” Hermione asked. “Shouldn’t you get to Snape?”

Harry whipped his wrist up to check his watch, accidentally knocking Hermione’s pumpkin juice into her lap.

“Harry!” she said reproachfully. 

Harry winced and stood up quickly. “I’m really sorry, Hermione, but you’re right, I have to go. It’s almost six.”

“Of course.” Hermione mopped herself up with a napkin. “Go on, don’t make him even angrier at you!”

Harry did his best to ignore that last bit as he ran down the stairs to the dungeons. All sorts of thoughts went through his head. How would he face Snape now, after his display of being a lunatic earlier? Not to mention the fact that his mind was the farthest from empty and calm that it had been in some time. Nothing good could come of the impending lesson.

Then Harry spotted Cho in the stone corridor, and he groaned inwardly. The girl was pretty, but he didn’t have time for this.

“Hi, Harry!” she said cheerfully. “Do you have a moment?”

Harry let out a deep breath. “Sorry, but no. I’m late for Snape.”

“Oh,” she said sadly. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, and he resumed running. The air was much cooler close to Snape’s office, Harry mused. It must be his cold personality.

Once again, Snape’s voice beckoned him inside before Harry could knock. He stepped inside, burning with trepidation. 

Snape finished marking an essay with a flourish of his quill before fixing him with an acidic glare. “Have you practiced?”

Harry sighed. There was no point in lying. “No. Not at all.”

Snape sniffed. “You haven’t practiced at all.”

“Not a little bit. Sir.”

Snape stood up, the glare becoming even more potent. “You realize, Potter, that I—unwillingly—give up my evenings to this pointless cause.”

“You don’t seem to mind giving them up for me to have detention,” Harry muttered.

“Silence, Potter!” Snape snarled. He towered over Harry, who met his gaze unflinchingly. “I give up my evenings to teach you this skill, teaching others would pay richly for, at Dumbledore’s request, and you have the nerve to not practice the skills that I am trying to teach. Is practice beneath the great Harry Potter?” Snape said, and Harry knew he was just trying to provoke him now. “Is the Golden Boy too special to have to deal with the menial task of clearing one’s mind every night?”

“I might have practiced last night,” Harry said slowly. “If only I had had the opportunity to sleep.”

Snape snorted derisively. “It’s certainly not my fault that you’re so behind in your homework, Potter.”

“I meant, I didn’t get to see the hours past one in the morning,” Harry said, angrier now. “Sir.”

Snape sneered. “And so we arrive at your latest story, in which you travel back in time. You already mentioned this earlier, Potter. And while your pathetic excuses may work on the headmaster, they’re not going to work on me! _Legilimens_!”

Harry was caught completely off-guard, and there was no defense to be had as memories sprang from the depths of his mind for Snape’s vindictive viewing pleasure…he was six and being beaten by his uncle…he was fourteen, on the ground in a graveyard, screaming as the Cruciatus curse worked on his body…he was in Umbridge’s office, cutting his own hand open repeatedly with the blood quill, giving him a new distinctive scar saying _I must not tell lies…._

_I must not tell lies_ , Harry wrote two hours later. He glared up at Umbridge, who was idly flipping through the Daily Prophet. He imagined that the blood on the paper was hers, that the pain in his hand could somehow be transferred to her pudgy, ringed hands instead. _I must not tell lies_. 

Since the cuts from the last time he had done this, a mere twelve hours ago, hadn’t healed yet, it took no time at all for the blood to start flowing freely. He let no gasp of pain escape him, nor did he let a wince cross his face. _I must not tell lies._ A drop pooled around the last “S” on his hand, and began to roll down his wrist. _I must not tell lies_.

Four hours later, the sickening woman came over to Harry and took his tortured hand in her own. She inspected the wound with relish, and almost let out a squeal of joy at the small puddle of Harry’s blood on the desk. 

“I see we’re making quite a bit of progress, aren’t we?” she said sweetly. Harry stared back at her, too pain-filled and exhausted to muster a reply. “Very well, then. You may go.”

Harry stumbled down the hallways, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. He dragged himself into Snape’s office, not knowing what would come next. 

“Good evening, Potter,” Snape said softly. He was reading a large book by candlelight. 

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry returned weakly. How long had it been since he had last slept? Too long, he decided, unwilling to do the arithmetic.

“I would advise you not to go bleeding around my office, Potter,” Snape said mildly. Harry frowned and looked at his hand. Blood was seeping through the robes in which he had wrapped it. 

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said bitterly, drawing his arm further into his sleeve. “What do you want me to do?”

Snape leaned forward over his book. “I want you to—”

Snape disappeared, the office and the candles disappeared, and Harry found himself in a crowed stone corridor with his classmates. He looked around in horror.

“Ouch!”

Harry fell heavily to the floor as a bag of books pummeled him in the knees. He stayed in that position for a moment, unwilling to open his eyes. The laughter of Slytherins assaulted his ears. 

“Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment.”

Harry felt Ron trying to get him off the ground, but all he could do was stare up at Snape in terror and disbelief. This was the worst dream he had ever had, and it looked like he wasn’t going to wake up.


	3. Don't Close Your Eyes

“Harry, get up, Snape’ll take more points if we’re late,” Ron was saying.

Harry glanced over the rims of his glasses at Ron, whose gaze was flickering between his fallen friend and the line of students moving into Snape’s class.

“Ron,” Harry whispered, “I can’t. I can’t go to class. Something’s going on.”

“That bag couldn’t have hurt too much, Harry,” Ron said, going to his knees to speak with Harry. “Remember, Neville has to carry it.”

“I’m serious, I—”

Harry’s frantic explanation of events was prematurely cut off by the imposing presence of their Potions professor. He looked up with bleary, sleep-deprived eyes at the greasy, sallow-faced wizard, who glared back. Harry held that pitiless gaze, hoping that Snape would glimpse the situation through Legilimency…maybe he would listen this time…

“Late for class again, are we?” Snape said softly. 

Harry’s hopes evaporated, and with them his apathy. Fueled by the rush of hatred through his body, he got to his feet, slowed only by the dizziness threatening to overtake him. 

“We’re not late for class _again_ ,” Harry said sourly. “This is the first time this week.”

Ron groaned and tried to step on Harry’s foot to make him stop talking. 

Snape only smirked. “As it’s Monday, that’s not very impressive, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor. Take your seats.”

 The other students were already situated, setting up their cauldrons and materials as Harry and Ron entered, followed by Snape, who slammed the door shut behind them. Harry hurried to be able to sit next to Hermione. He had to tell her earlier this time, that way the remainder of the twelve hours of hell could be put toward working on the problem. 

“If you will pass forward your essays, please…” Snape began the class.

 Harry leaned over toward Hermione, ignoring Ron’s slightly annoyed look that Harry had stolen his seat. “Hermione!” he hissed.

Hermione shushed him and pointed to the front of the room, where Snape was telling them about Cleaning Solutions. 

Harry snarled and unwrapped his swollen, bleeding hand to show to her, hoping it would garner some attention. Hermione gasped when she saw the words “I must not tell lies” cut into Harry’s skin, barely readable through the curtain of blood flowing over them.

“Harry, why is your hand so bad?” Hermione whispered worriedly. “You haven’t had detention since Saturday night, right? Oh, you should go to Madam Pomfrey!”

 “I can’t,” Harry said, drawing his hand into his robes once again. “Hermione, I need your help. I’ve gone back in time. I shouldn’t be here, I keep reliving the same twelve hours over and over again!”

Hermione blinked at him, brown eyes wide with worry and confusion. “Harry, calm down. Now, tell me again—”

“As if the joy of being late weren’t enough for Mr. Potter,” Snape’s icy voice cut in, “Mr. Potter feels he must talk about his social life while he’s supposed to be making a Cleaning Solution, which would undoubtedly do him more good.”

The Slytherins chuckled at this. A strange ringing erupted in Harry’s ears, and he whirled around in his seat to face the Potions Master, who was standing directly behind him.

“Excuse me, _sir_ ,” Harry said acidly, “But I don’t really need a Cleaning Solution. I, unlike other people, tend to wash my hair more often than once a year. That way, it doesn’t need to be scoured by a Cleaning Solution.”

The class went silent, except for a few ill-hidden chuckles from the Gryffindors and a groan of despair from both Ron and Hermione.

“Detention, Potter.”

Harry started laughing. Three times in a row now he had managed to land himself in detention with Professor Snape. It occurred to him that if he kept returning to the past, he would be able to insult Snape over and over again, and he wouldn’t remember. Then the thought of reliving the worst parts of Monday over and over again, with the only good part about the day being the time he insults Professor Snape, entered his mind and the cheerless laughter turned into the beginning of tears. 

Harry checked his watch, oblivious to the stares of his fellow students and Snape. It was  one fifteen .

“Tell me,” Snape’s silky voice broke the silence, “what is so amusing?”

Harry looked up, blinking. Snape’s face was unpleasantly close to his. 

“Nothing, sir,” he said soberly.

“Nothing,” Snape said softly. The bitter Potions Master leaned over Harry’s table and met his tired eyes. Harry stared back into the abyss of blackness, once again willing the self-proclaimed Legilimency expert to pry the relevant information from his mind. 

The rest of the class was completely silent, except for the gentle bubbling of cauldrons. 

_ “I’m stuck in the worst day of my life,” _ Harry thought desperately. _“I shouldn’t be here…I think this is your fault…”_

Snape blinked suddenly, jerking upright. He scanned Harry once more with searching, calculating eyes before walking to the front of the classroom again, robes dusting the floor behind him. The Gryffindors in the classroom visibly relaxed, now that one of their own wasn’t in danger of being killed. 

“Get to work!” Snape said impatiently when the room continued to be still. The class immediately went to their potions, huddling over instructions and notes and cauldrons more fervently than necessary.

Harry sat down, suddenly too weary to care about his Cleaning Solution. He looked over at Hermione, who was watching him with a worried gaze. 

“What’s going on?” she whispered. Her ingredients were spread out on her table, untouched. It meant a lot to Harry that she cared more for his well-being than she did for her potion during this lesson.

“I need help,” Harry whispered back. “This is going to sound crazy, but I’ve been reliving the same twelve hours over and over again.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean in twelve hours, I’m going to go back in time to this Potions lesson, for the fourth time,” Harry said tersely. “It’s like I’m stuck!”

Hermione glanced up to the front of the room. Snape was preoccupied with a book and a jar, so she continued to whisper to Harry. “Are you using a Time Turner?”

“No!” Harry’s voice almost exceeded a whisper, and he looked around cautiously before going on. “No, I don’t think so. There’s only one of me around, so that doesn’t make sense.”

“Right,” Hermione said. She took a moment to hastily add a few ingredients to her cauldron and stir, leaving the rod slowly swirling around the rim as she let go. “Well, I don’t know of other ways to travel in time. A Time Turner is the only way, according to what I’ve read.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Harry muttered. He rested his forehead on his good hand, closing his eyes. He was so tired and sore.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Ron whispered from his spot a table over. 

Harry didn’t bother answering. It felt so good to close his eyes. 

 


	4. Strange Dreams

“Wake up, Potter.”

Smarting pain shot through Harry’s hand and he hissed, his eyes snapping open. The world was dark and blurry, and he could barely see his hand. The pain spread through his back and head, and he closed his eyes once again.

“I said, wake up.” A deep voice was growling at him. His smarting hand started to hurt even more, and he let out a cry. The fuzzy outline of Snape was above him.

“Professor?” Harry asked groggily. He sat up and brought his injured hand closer to his face to inspect it. Snape grabbed it midway, eliciting another cry from Harry.

“You’re fine, Potter, quit acting like I’m murdering you,” Snape said tersely. The Potions Master submerged Harry’s hand in a bowl of liquid, instantly cooling the wound.

Harry took a few deep breaths. There was a quiet buzzing in his mind, and not much else. He felt there was some dark situation going on, but he was unwilling to remember what it was.

“You have managed to distinguish yourself in yet another childish way,” Snape said. Harry blinked at the blurred shape of the greasy man. “You are the only student who has ever fallen asleep in my classroom.”

Harry tried speaking, but only a raspy gurgle escaped him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Snape sniffed and stood up, setting Harry’s hand and bowl on some nearby surface. Something light was pressed into his good hand; his glasses. He slid them on with some difficulty and blinked a few more times to clear the haze from his eyes.

He was in Snape’s office, and the Potions Master was standing above him, glaring his way with a curious gaze. Harry gulped as the silence stretched on.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Potter?” Snape growled.

Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the harsh stare and the grotesque jars lining the office walls. He sat up from his reclined position, closing his eyes and wincing as dizziness stole over him.

“You will refrain from fainting, as you have been asleep for three hours already.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, still trying to remember what was going on. A rush of adrenalin took most of his sleepiness away as he suddenly remembered everything.

“Professor, you have to believe me, you have to help me!” Harry said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “And what is it, exactly, with which I should help you?”

“I keep going back in time and reliving the same twelve hours over and over again,” Harry said in a rush. He looked up hopefully to the quizzical black eyes.

Snape turned and walked to the other end of his office. Harry watched him, heart pounding in his ears. Snape didn’t believe him, he was going to have to track down Hermione again, or maybe he would go to Dumbledore this time, but he had to do something—

“I believe that you think you are telling the truth,” Snape said suddenly, turning on the spot to stare at him once again. Harry hated Legilimency. “Whether this is actually what has happened remains to be seen.”

Harry paused, then, “Please, sir, it keeps happening in your office. So I thought—”

“You think I am to blame. I see.”

“No, that’s not it,” Harry protested. “Well, maybe, but—”

“Silence, Potter!” Snape hissed. Harry closed his mouth. After a few tense moments of staring, Snape said, “Time travel is powerful magic, and there are few ways to accomplish it.”

“So what’s going on?” Harry burst out before he could stop himself.

“I would suggest that you do not anger the person who can help you, Potter,” Snape said lowly.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said quietly.

“And I’m beginning to find your ceaseless, meaningless apologies most tiring.”

Harry merely nodded, and Snape finally went on.

“How many times have you gone back in time?” Snape asked, pacing back in his direction.

“Three times, now, sir. I think.”

“And does it always happen after the same amount of time?”

“About twelve hours, a little less.” Harry’s hand began to hurt again, and he pushed it further into the bowl, which contained Essence of Murtlap, on inspection. Snape was almost being nice to him right now, which was almost as concerning as his current situation.

“I see,” Snape said. “Now tell me, why are you in this deplorable state after all of this? You bled all over the floor of my classroom.”

Harry winced, although it was good to know that Snape wasn’t actually being nice to him. “I’ve had detention with you and Umbridge after a full day of classes two times in a row.”

“As much as I would like to make you bleed during my detentions, I do want to keep my position as a teacher, and I wouldn’t force physical harm onto you that others would be able to detect.”

Harry hesitated, but then decided not to say anything.

“You’ve lost all this blood thanks to Umbridge and her quill, then?” Snape said.

Harry nodded.

“And you haven’t slept in at least twenty-four hours, apart from your nap in my classroom?

Harry confirmed this with another nod.

“Very well,” Snape said. “You will remain here for the next five hours to recuperate. I will confer with Professor Dumbledore, and a house elf will be sent to bring you supper. I will return, and we will have our usual Occlumency lesson.” Snape’s face was twisted in disgust, as if he regretted every word he was saying.

“Why are you going to Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“I am aware of your stubborn avoidance of the one man who can help you with anything,” Snape said, stabbing Harry’s pride with the outside observation of how transparent he was. “But my knowledge in this area is lacking. I fear this may be an effort of the Dark Lord.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay.”

Snape spoke quickly as he left. “Sleep for now, Potter.” And he was gone.

Harry stared at the jar containing a baby bird, thinking. He was finally in an okay position this time around, having gotten his point across to both Hermione and Snape. He didn’t really want to waste time sleeping, even though he definitely needed it. He was supposed to be in DADA right now. He was thankful that he wasn’t, but he wondered what Umbridge would make of the matter. Would she make trouble for him and attempt to track him down? Harry snorted at the thought of getting even more detentions.

Worse still, he wondered what Snape was going to tell Dumbledore. He knew it was kind of silly of him to avoid the old man like he had been doing, but he just had a bad feeling about him. Probably because Dumbledore wouldn’t look at him anymore, like the Headmaster had a bad feeling about _him_.

Harry stood up slowly, picking up the bowl of Murtlap to carry with him. The liquid was thick and red now, but it was still doing its job. He wanted to pull Hermione out of class and have her help him with this, but he knew that was unlikely to happen. He also wanted to go to the library and research everything to do with Time Travel, but if anyone saw him he would be in trouble.

Harry bit his lower lip, thinking. He was too tired and conspicuous right now to do anything. Maybe Snape would actually sort things for him. Maybe.

He turned and went back to the cot Snape had put him in earlier. Maybe sleep was the best option right now, after all. Setting his hand and the bowl in a comfortable position, he closed his eyes.

“Harry! Harry, are you okay?”

Harry felt himself being poked and lightly smacked. He sat up with a start. Ron was there, and so were all of his classmates, and so was Neville’s bag…

“Oh, no.” Harry settled back onto the ground, ignoring the ruckus around him. Here he was again.


	5. Two Hours

“Harry, get up! There’s no way Neville’s bag can knock you over, unless you’re Neville, maybe…”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

Harry kept his eyes firmly shut, reluctant to accept what was going on. His hand was hurting again, but thankfully not as badly as it had been last time. And he wasn’t quite as tired now as he had been for the past...too many hours. He supposed that he had at least gotten some sleep this time around, and that was worth something.

But he had to act immediately. He had to get started telling people what was going on faster, to streamline the process enough so something could eventually be done about it.

“Harry, is there something wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Hermione,” Harry began, but he was interrupted.

“Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment.”

Snape was standing in the threshold of the dungeon door, scowling at the scene before him. Harry was still on the ground, as was Neville. Snape sniffed.

“Class is now starting one minute late,” he said. “Another five points from Gryffindor.” With that, he glided into the classroom, and the class meekly followed.

Harry’s brain raced. He had to do it over again, he had to contact Snape earlier. Telling him the situation hadn’t worked the first time. He wondered if perhaps he should pretend to faint again, or if he should create some other kind of scene to get attention. He almost smiled at the irony of the thought that he might have to act in the flamboyant manner in which Snape always accused him of behaving.

Swallowing, Harry decided to be bold and just go to Snape immediately this time. He knew now that this wasn’t Snape’s fault. He berated himself for not thinking of Voldemort sooner. Of course Snape could help him with this, he was an Order member…and of course Snape wasn’t the one doing this to him. What was the point beyond make Harry miserable? Snape was already good enough at doing that.

As the other students settled down in their seats, Harry went up to the front of the classroom to Snape’s desk.

“If you will hand forward your essays, please…” Snape said as he turned from his notes to face the room. His eyes fixed on Harry’s and narrowed darkly. “What is it, Potter?”

“I need your help, sir,” Harry said, looking straight into the cold black gaze. He heard murmurs of confusion and chatter from his classmates behind him.

Snape leaned down toward Harry so their faces were a mere foot apart. “Whatever your problem is today, can it not wait until the end of class?”

“No, it really can’t, sir,” Harry said. He maintained eye contact, hoping Snape was using his irritating ability now.

Snape’s voice was just above a whisper, so only Harry could hear. “I don’t care about whatever crisis you think you’re in right now, Potter.”

“Sir, I really need your help with this.”

Snape stared at him. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Potter. Take your seat.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Why wasn’t Snape getting the message in his mind? “I don’t care about points, _sir_ , I need you to listen to me.”

The people closest to the front of the room, who could hear his last words, let out a collective gasp. Some Slytherins snickered, no doubt thinking Harry was about to be hexed on the spot.

“Detention, Potter.”

Harry laughed, a harsh barking sound. “Why do you always give me detention? How is that the outcome every single time? Am I just destined to have detention all the time?”

“If you continue this nonsense, then yes, it will be until the end of term,” Snape breathed.

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, leaning forward. He was getting reckless now, the class had gone silent, and he had no care for the consequences, as he knew everything was just going to be erased anyway unless he did something. “Can we talk in your office?”

Snape’s face was twitching at this point. He stiffly jerked his head toward the door adjoining the classroom, and Harry nodded his thanks before going to the office. Snape told the class to get started, then followed Harry.

Harry merely blinked as Snape slammed the heavy door behind him. “What is the meaning of this, Potter?”

“I have a problem.”

Snape was about to interrupt, but Harry continued quickly, “I’ve been reliving the same twelve hours over and over again. I don’t know how or why, but it keeps happening. I need your help to stop it.”

Snape snorted. “That is the most ridiculous lie you have ever uttered in my presence.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry countered. “Read my mind, if you have to.”

“How many times must I tell you Legilimency is not—”

“I don’t care!” Harry shouted. “I don’t have much time! Just do it and help me!”

“I will not tolerate—”

“Please, Professor!” Harry said, exasperated.

Snape narrowed his eyes and proceeded to stare Harry down. Harry let all his hectic thoughts rise to the surface… _I’m stuck…I’m trapped in this hell…You helped me last time…_

Some time passed in the office while Snape did his work. Harry was starting to get sick of repeating the same thoughts and trying to focus on just the one subject when Snape blinked, and the black eyes narrowed further. “I know you’re too pathetic an Occlumens to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry said, ignoring the barb. “I really need your help. You said Voldemort might be doing something to me.”

Snape was silent, for once not lecturing Harry about the usage of the Dark Lord’s name. Then, “Go to the Headmaster’s office. I have a class to teach.”

As if on cue, the sound of an explosion (Neville’s cauldron again, Harry mused) and screams came through the door, slightly muffled. Snape turned on a heel and swept out of the musty office, leaving Harry alone without another word.

Harry barely listened to the shouts and chaos from the room. Snape wasn’t going to help him this time. He wondered if Snape had even helped him the first time, beyond letting him sleep. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Hermione wasn’t much help, Snape was being more unpleasant than usual…who else could he go to?

He regretfully decided that going to Dumbledore was his best option right now. Hoping that he would be able to walk the hallways unnoticed, he set off at a brisk pace.

He surfaced from the dungeons, looking carefully around the tall stone corners of the old hallways. If anyone caught him walking around and not in his classes, he might be in trouble. He sincerely wished he had his Invisibility Cloak, but the trip to Dumbledore’s office wasn’t far from where he was. He walked casually and kept close to the wall.

“Hello, Potter,” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded from behind him.

Harry whirled. “Hello, Professor.”

McGonagall’s thin lips thinned even more as she regarded him thoughtfully. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Double Potions right now?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “But I need to see Professor Dumbledore.”

The old Transfiguration professor frowned. “What for, Potter?”

“I’m having a problem,” Harry said. Then, “Professor, maybe you can help me.”

“I’m very busy, Potter, I was just on my way to my next class…” Professor McGonagall paused. “But maybe I can help. What seems to be the matter?”

“I’ve been reliving the same twelve hours of my life over and over again,” Harry said in a rush.

McGonagall stared, then said, “I’m very sorry, but I have to get back to my classroom now. I don’t have time for this.”

“Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” Harry groaned.

“Because that just sounds insane, Potter,” McGonagall informed him.

“I’m not insane,” Harry gritted his teeth. “I’ve been going back in time at the same point in about ten hours from now, so I don’t have much time to figure it out before it happens again! And last time Snape said Voldemort might be involved!”

“Keep your voice down!” McGonagall hissed.

Harry quieted down, but inside he felt victorious. That had garnered her attention.

“Potter, I’m sorry, I do have to prepare for my next class,” McGonagall said. “But please, continue on to the Headmaster’s office. The password is ‘Fizzing Whizbee.’”

“Oh,” Harry said. He had forgotten about that important detail. “Thanks, Professor!”

Harry made his way to the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore’s office without further interruptions. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then said, “Fizzing Whizbee.”

The gargoyle leapt aside and the wall parted, revealing the spiral staircase behind. Harry stepped onto the moving spiral, going up.

Harry paused in front of the door with the griffin knocker, wondering how he was going to make his case to Dumbledore. The old wizard wouldn’t even look at him, why would he spare a minute or two of his time to help a psycho?

Preparing a few sentences in his mind, he knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

Getting none, he knocked again.

Fifteen minutes later, he leaned against the regal door and let out a deep breath, wondering what to do next. Was Dumbledore ignoring him, or was he gone? What was going on?

Harry pitched forward suddenly, pushed in the back by the door. He tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor, groaning.

“Was somebody knocking on my door?” Dumbledore asked from the doorway.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, picking himself up.

“Ah, hello, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, please, sir,” Harry said, thankful to be getting somewhere.

Harry sat down across from Dumbledore, and the old man occupied himself with a piece of candy. Harry cleared his throat, and still the headmaster wouldn’t look his way. Ignoring this, Harry spoke first.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” Harry began, “I have a problem.”

“And what is your problem, Harry?” Dumbledore slowly unwrapped and rewrapped the candy.

“I keep going back in time every twelve hours,” Harry said. He was getting sick of this conversation. He sat on the edge of his seat, hoping Dumbledore would believe him.

“I see,” Dumbledore said slowly. He still stared at the candy rather than Harry, but Harry was getting used to this treatment by now. “Tell me more.”

“It keeps happening in Snape’s office,” Harry said.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore put in gently.

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, I keep going back to the beginning of Double Potions, and then I go through the day, and then, a bit past midnight, in Snape’s office, I go back to the beginning of Potions.”

“Interesting.”

“Do you believe me?” Harry said.

“Of course I believe you,” Dumbledore said, and Harry felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. “I’m just wondering how this can be possible. Tell me, why are you always in Professor Snape’s office past midnight?”

“I keep having detention with him, sir,” Harry said sullenly.

Dumbledore nodded at the candy, then unwrapped it fully and popped it into his mouth.

Thwack!

Something heavy went straight into Harry’s knees, and he collapsed to the ground. All around him were laughing Slytherins and concerned Gryffindors.

“No,” Harry breathed.

“You all right, Harry?” Ron asked, his freckled face directly above him.

Harry brought his wrist to his eyes to check his watch. It was reset again for right before Potions. But how could that be, when he had only gone through maybe two hours in the past loop?

“Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment,” Snape said from the doorway of the classroom.

“Stop saying that!” Harry shouted, unable to contain himself.

He found he didn’t care very much as every pair of eyes in the dungeon corridor turned to him and stared.


	6. Veritaserum

** 6.  Veritaserum **

****

Harry breathed heavily as Snape looked him up and down with disdain. The rest of the class, still lining the corridor, glanced nervously between Snape in the doorway and Harry on the floor.

“What did you say, Mr. Potter?” Snape’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry picked himself off the floor, ignoring the screaming bruises and aches all over his body from being whacked in the legs and thrown to the ground once every twelve—and now, more terrifyingly, every two hours. Why did it only take two hours that time? Why wasn’t it in Snape’s office? Was the time just going to shrink and shrink until he was stuck reliving the same second over and over again, or stuck in a single moment, still and helpless? Frozen in time, going mad until he died of starvation?

“Professor, you have to help me!” Harry said, somewhat wildly. 

“You will cease this behavior immediately, Potter!” Snape hissed.

“Please!” Harry begged. “I need you to help me! I’ve been going back in time, it’s like I’m stuck, and it’s happening faster now! I think it’s going to happen again in two hours!”

The Slytherins snickered, while the Gryffindors made shushing noises and looked concerned for Harry’s sanity. Ron was pulling on his sleeve and treading on his foot, while Hermione only stared at him while she helped Neville stand.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for this grotesque display of insanity,” Snape said coldly.

“I’m not insane!” Harry insisted, his eyes wide and his glasses askew. 

“Class is now three minutes late,” Snape said, ignoring Harry’s last while addressing the whole class. “Enter and take your seats. Potter, stay out here with me a moment.”

Hermione continued to stare at him until she was clear of the doorway, while Ron made an apologetic face and shuffled into the dungeon classroom with the rest. Snape stared lividly at Harry until the whole class was inside the room, then slammed the door shut.

“Whatever your game is today, Golden Boy, I’m not playing it,” Snape snapped, spitting in Harry’s face as he stepped closer. “I do not care if all the stress of your life has caused you to become unhinged; you will behave like a normal human being!”

“I’m not playing any games,” Harry growled through his teeth. “Sir, I’m serious, this has actually happened to me four or five times now, and I’ve gone to Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore and they couldn’t help me, you’re the one who seems to know something about it, so I really need—”

“Detention, Potter!” Snape barked. 

“Stop giving me detention!” Harry roared.

“One hundred points from Gryffindor!” Snape said vindictively. 

“Just use Legilimency on me!” Harry shouted. “I’m not lying!”

“Silence!” Snape said. “I will not tolerate this!”

“I don’t care!” Harry screamed. “Just do it!”

“ _Silencio_!”

Harry didn’t even see Snape’s wand leave his pocket. He whipped his own wand out too late; it left his hand with a quick “ _Expelliarmus_.” Mute and wandless, he was helpless to resist as Snape roughly grasped the back of his robes and shoved him into his office. 

“Long have I awaited this moment,” Snape breathed, pushing Harry into a wooden chair and conjuring ropes to hold him in place. Harry squirmed, shouting soundlessly in Snape’s direction. “The occasion during which you give me the perfect excuse...”

Harry’s fears were confirmed when Snape took a small, clear vial of liquid from a shelf. “I believe I have introduced this to you before.”

Harry stared at the vial. Snape put it down on his desk, along with Harry’s wand. “I will let you ponder the possibilities while I attend to my class.”

And Snape left him alone, staring at the dusty desk, the vial, and his wand. Harry couldn’t believe the fix he was in now. He didn’t have time for this, he needed help right away. 

Harry pulled against his bonds, but he couldn’t worm his hands or feet free. He looked down at himself; Snape had nearly mummified him in rope. He tried instead to scoot forward by undulating his whole body against the ropes. He merely crashed over onto the stone floor after a few inches of progress. 

Momentarily thankful that the Silencing Charm had been put on him, as no one had heard his cry of pain, he continued squirming toward the desk. He was two meters away….he found that by swinging his legs, he could sort of get more momentum that way…still about two meters away….

“I don’t want to know what you’re doing, Potter,” Snape’s amused voice floated in from somewhere above. Harry grimaced. “But let us see where we stand. _Finite Incantatem_.”

Harry cleared his throat; his voice was back  but slightly muffled, as his cheek was pressed against the cold stones. “Professor, please, I’m not lying to you. This is really happening, and it’s happening faster now.”

Harry felt himself being levitated upright, and the chair fell to the ground with a clatter. He dazedly met Snape’s eyes. 

“Time to find out what you’re playing at,” Snape said, waving the clear vial in front of his face. 

“Professor, please, no…”

Snape unscrewed the cap and pinched Harry’s nose, forcing his head back and his mouth open. To Harry’s horror, he felt and tasted the liquid go into his mouth. The angry professor violently released his head, and Harry coughed, trying to spit it out.

“There we go, Potter,” Snape said, a hand on each arm of the chair to which he was bound, leaning over him dangerously. “Drink up.”

“You’re insane!” Harry spat. “You can’t just do this to students!”

“I can if I have reason to believe if the student may be under an outside influence,” Snape said silkily. “And you have given me such a belief.”

Harry felt a strange nonchalance fall over him, like when he was under the Imperious Curse. It occurred to him, dimly, that if he could fight off the Imperious Curse, he might be able to fight Veritaserum. 

“What is your name?” Snape asked, his breath making Harry cringe.

“Harry James Potter,” Harry replied.

“Who stole the gillyweed from my stores last year?” Snape asked.

“Dobby the house elf,” Harry said. _No_ , he thought to himself. Why did he say that? Maybe he couldn’t fight this, after all. 

Snape stood upright, looking victorious. Surely Snape hadn’t been waiting a whole year to put him under Veritaserum to ask him that?

“Are you under the influence of the Dark Lord or any other entities at this time?”

“No,” Harry said. Snape frowned.

“Have you genuinely been...” Snape paused. “Going back in time?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

“And you are not, to the best of your knowledge, insane?”

“I am not insane,” Harry said.

Snape sighed. “Tell me more.”

Harry did so, telling Snape his story from the beginning. It took quite a few minutes, during which Snape towered above him, arms crossed, absorbing all. Harry was cut off as an explosion sounded from the classroom, followed by several shrieks. 

“Stay here,” Snape told him before he left the room.

Harry stared after him blankly. He felt like his mind was slow, like he knew he could think faster but right now he couldn’t. He wondered if it was the Veritaserum. Was that potion supposed to make him dizzy like this? How did that make people tell the truth?

Harry twisted his arm within his restraints, which Snape had lessened slightly, to look at his watch. It was almost three. He felt that was an important time for some reason. Was it? And what was the explosion?  
  


A cauldron, Harry thought to himself. Yes, Neville’s cauldron exploded. 

And he was supposed to go back in time again in just a few minutes. 

“Professor!” Harry yelled from his chair. “Professor Snape!”

Snape entered his office looking more angry than usual. “What is it, Potter?”

“I’m supposed to go back in time again in just a few minutes,” Harry explained frantically.

Snape scowled. “So what do you expect from me?”

“Can you stay with me?” Harry asked.

Harry blushed furiously, wishing more than anything that he could take those words back. This was Professor Snape. The hatred between himself and his teacher was deep and mutual. And now, on Veritaserum, with a light head full of fear, he was acting like a child.

He looked up at Snape with wide and wary eyes, awaiting the scathing remark that was sure to come. 

“I’m not sure what the point of that would be, if you will merely go back in time and have to repeat the last two hours again. My presence will have no effect,” Snape said.

Harry blinked. That was decidedly less scathing than he had been expecting.

“However,” Snape said, his voice dripping fake concern, “I will stay with you, if only to berate you afterward when you do not loop back into the past.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said. 

Snape sat down at his desk and sniffed. “I think you’re even more irritating when you’re on a Truth Potion.”

“That’s probably right,” Harry said, unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. “I lie to you a lot.”

Snape only cocked an eyebrow, rather than making Harry divulge all his secrets to him, which Harry thought was rather considerate. 

One, then two minutes passed. Then five. Harry braced himself, getting ready to be thrown to the floor by a book bag once again. After ten minutes, when nothing happened, Harry was very confused.

“It was supposed to happen by now,” Harry said. “This is about when it happened last time. I was in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Do you think that whatever has happened to you has been broken?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. 

Snape regarded him thoughtfully. “I will go to the Headmaster. If anyone can help, he can.”

“He didn’t help last time, or the time before,” Harry said sluggishly.

“Have you slept recently, Potter?”

Harry thought. Had he? “Yes. I think I woke up four hours ago.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Not for a while. That doesn’t matter, though.”

Snape scowled. “Why not?”

“I hadn’t noticed I was hungry. I’m used to not eating very much.”

Snape stood and untied Harry with a sweep of his wand. “I will send a house elf down with something for you. You will not be anorexic in my office.”

“It’s not anorexia,” Harry said, helplessly watching each word escape him. “I’m used to it from childhood.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, glinting maliciously. “Fascinating, the things that are revealed while under such a strong Truth Potion.”

Harry gulped, hoping he wouldn’t ask more.

“Here is the antidote,” Snape said, retrieving a small purple bottle from inside his desk. “I have no interest in your pathetic upbringing.”

Harry took the vial and drank it down eagerly. Snape watched disdainfully, then said, “You will remain here until I come back. I do not want you wandering about causing more trouble than you already have.”

“Shouldn’t I come with, sir?” Harry objected, handing the bottle back to Snape.

“And what would be the purpose of that?”

Harry stretched experimentally before he stood up; he had been tied down in the same position for two hours and his body was protesting. “To tell Dumbledore everything. Sir.”

“I can do that accurately enough, Potter.”

“But—”

“Has it not occurred to you that if the Dark Lord is doing this, it would not be wise to alert him to the plan of action? Since you have no skills in Occlumency to protect you from such a threat,” Snape added lowly.

“But then, wouldn’t he know that you’re helping me? Isn’t that bad too?” Harry asked. 

“It amazes me just how dim your mind can be,” Snape sneered. “Quit delaying me. I will be back within a few hours. I encourage you to take some rest until then.”

And he left Harry alone in his office. 

Harry sat down on the cot he had slept in before and wondered what to do. He felt better now that he wasn’t on any truth potions. He still couldn’t believe Snape had done that. Why risk Dumbledore, or even the Ministry, finding out for so little gain? 

Harry held his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He almost wished he could do this loop over again, just to avoid this contact with Snape. 

Harry looked up, blinking. He really was as dim as Snape always said. This was a horrible curse, whatever was happening to him…but it was also, in a strange way, a chance. This was free extra time he was gaining, this was a chance to act out with no thought or care for consequences. It was a constant blank slate. 

But he shouldn’t think that way, he chided himself. He should just figure out how to end this and move on. And if this really was Voldemort’s doing…maybe Voldemort just wanted to kill him by living these few hours over and over again until he aged and died. 

Harry took his shoes off and lay down, his mind racing with this morbid thought. He decided to take Snape’s advice and tried to go to sleep.

“Wake up, Potter.”

Harry opened his eyes. He was facing an unfamiliar stone wall, and not the deep red curtains of his own bed. He remembered his whole situation with a groan and turned to face Snape.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily, sitting up.

“Eleven at night,” Snape said. “The house elf came with some sandwiches, they’re still here if you’d like.”

Harry stood shakily and took one from the tray on Snape’s desk. “So what did Dumbledore say?”

“He’s still researching a solution,” Snape said, and Harry’s heart fell as he chewed. “He did say, however, that next time you should escape from my class and go straight to him, to give him an extra two hours. He needs more time.”

Harry took a deep breath. Some advice on what to do was better than none. “Okay. Thank you.”

Harry and Snape sat in the dim office for some time in silence while Harry ate. At half past, Snape cleared his throat and spoke.

“I will no doubt try to stop you,” Snape said quietly. “You should try to escape unnoticed. I doubt you could defend yourself in a duel.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” Harry said. 

Snape seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Then, “I was in error earlier telling you I didn’t care about your home life.”

Sensing danger where this conversation was going, Harry said, “It’s okay, Professor, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s over, it was years ago.”

“I have reason to believe otherwise,” Snape said stiffly. “You are a terrible Occlumens, Potter.”

Harry bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I do try.”

“When this is over, I want you to tell someone what happens to you at that Muggle hive you call home,” Snape said. When Harry didn’t respond, Snape said, “You aren’t going to.”

Harry grimaced. “No, sir.”

“That is your choice, then,” Snape said. 

They were silent once again. The minutes dragged on until it was past  midnight . It could happen at any time now.

“Do remember, Potter, that by messing up this time, you’ve condemned us all to relive Monday once again without realizing it,” Snape said.

Harry stared. “What?”

The dungeon was replaced with the dungeon hallway, and Neville’s bag was coming his way. Harry jumped to avoid it. Then, finally in possession of a plan, he ran. 

 


End file.
